An unkindness of ravens
There seem to be an overkill of ravens croaking high above the fields in this part of Dorset right now. Has anyone checked the Tower of London lately, to see if the ravens are still there? The story goes that if the Tower’s ravens are lost or fly away, the Crown will fall and Britain with it. Whereas I used to hear the ravens’ call only up on Bluebell Hill, they’re now lower down, closer to the village although flying high, solitary, in the sky on their way to somewhere. Their call is so distinctive. Unmistakable. Swifts have returned to the village square, nesting under the eaves of a house down the road, undisturbed by building work going on. To see these birds swooping in and out, well, they’re a joy to behold. It’s great to have them back, even just a few of them. It makes a change from the blessed jackdaws, although I suppose everyone has to live somewhere. But preferably not as close to me as this lot have been of late. The swifts seem to have such fun and they’re so ...